pasture spinning

I did a bit of spinning in the pasture tonight. I came home from work, did basic chores, and then walked up to the high gate with a quilt, roving, a crook and a drop spindle. I spun on my blanket while the sheep tottered around me. It's oddly pleasing, spinning yarn from sheep eating their dinner right beside you. The yarn was imperfect and chunky. I liked it that way.

The carded fleeced seemed to race into yarn. It took moments to spin and collect on the weight of the object. Curious how it took months to grow on the back of an animal, a team of skilled people to shear it, hours of soaking, a night of carding—and yet in minutes it met it's meaning. How elegant a fate.

It was dusk. The air was warm. It was one of those afternoons you read about in books.